


Inside the Tent

by keerawa



Category: due South
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-29
Updated: 2007-06-29
Packaged: 2017-10-02 22:58:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keerawa/pseuds/keerawa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You go far enough north, the sun gets lazy, the compass goes crazy, and the wind has voices in it.  Ray can hack it, no problem.  He's on the yellow brick road.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inside the Tent

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to [Outside the Tent](http://keerawa.livejournal.com/34296.html), a post-CotW snippet, but can stand alone. Thanks to my beta [](http://j-s-cavalcante.livejournal.com/profile)[**j_s_cavalcante**](http://j-s-cavalcante.livejournal.com/), who poked and prodded, made me write more, and taught me some grammar on the way.

This place is nuts. To start with, the sun is all wrong. It moves low and slow across the sky, like it's too lazy to get up there and do its damn job. Next there's the compass. Fraser had a whole long explanation about the Earth's magnetic field, but what it boiled down to was, up here, not even the compass knows which way is north.

I was doing pretty good, figuring out how to snowshoe, learning how to set up camp. Then the storm hit.

I'm Chicago born and bred. I've seen plenty of blizzards before, but nothing like this. Fraser had us wrapped up in a double sleeping bag in the tent by the time things got bad, just a double layer of material between us and the storm howling over our heads, blocking out the sun.

It got dark and cold. Really fucking cold, so it hurt to breathe. And the wind was…I know this is crazy, but the wind had voices in it, voices screaming at me. I could feel myself starting to lose it, just lose it.

Then I heard Fraser's voice calling me back. He started telling me Inuit stories, one after the other, his voice soft and hoarse under the wind. Fraser, saving me again. Fuck him.

I'd come out here for an adventure. And it was all, "Here, Ray, let me get that," and "I'm sure the dogs will respond better as they get to know you," and "Have another energy bar, Ray, calorific intake is essential to arctic survival." Last time we stocked up on supplies in a town, I figured out the only reason somebody rides in a sled up here is if they're _injured_. Which, I guess, in Fraser's head, maybe I am.

Today he saw there was a storm coming, set up the camp, saw to the dogs, fed me, watered me, and tucked me into this sleeping bag with him like I was some kind of pet. Didn't ask me to help with nothing, not once.

He's got no fucking right to treat me that way. We're partners. Least we're supposed to be. Fraser just droned on and on, and I listened, teeth grinding on the cuss words that wanted to come out, until finally I fell asleep.

When I woke up, it was pitch black and I was wrapped around Fraser. He was burning hot, breathing hard, panting, like he was running or fighting, keeping us safe from the storm with some freaky Fraser-power.

"Frase? You okay?" I could barely hear myself over the wind, but his ear was only an inch or so away from my mouth. He shivered, but didn't answer me. Maybe he was asleep, having a bad dream or something? I shook him a little. "Fraser?"

"Ray," he gasped, "Yes. I'm fine."

Sure, that's what he said. Except his body and breathing were letting me in on the secret; he was pretty fucking far from fine. Oh, fuck. Was Fraser running a fever? He could be getting sick, really sick. And there's…there's no medicine, no hospital up here, nearest town's a three-day trip away, and I'm not even sure what direction it's in. I hope Dief knows how to drive the sled, because I don't.

Fuck. Okay, get a grip.

Maybe Fraser's not sick. Maybe he's just as freaked out by the storm as I am. What am I supposed to do about that? Fraser's the guy who knows what's going on out here, and all he's done since we got ourselves tucked in here was to tell some stories.

Okay. Stories. I can do that. Not that I really know any, but I know movies, and they make pretty good bedtime stories. So I started telling Fraser "The Wizard of Oz", funny voices and all. Fraser's breathing evened out. When I got to the part where Dorothy threatens to kick the Lion in the head, he let out this little snort. That got me laughing, which set him off, and like it was some kind of magic, the wind started to die down outside.

"Ray," Fraser asked once he got his breath back, "did Dorothy ever consider staying in Oz?"

"Nah. The whole movie is about her trying to get back to Kansas, to the people she loves."

"I see."

He fell asleep a while after that, but I kept going until the end of the story. My favorite part about blizzards in Chicago was coming home to Mom's hot chocolate. Snuggling up to Fraser and telling him a story was like the grown-up version.

The dogs' barking woke me up. Morning sunshine was glowing through the walls of the tent. No Fraser in reach, but the Coleman stove was already going, melting some snow. I pulled some clothes into the sleeping bag and pulled on all of my outside layers, then got out into the cold air and unzipped the tent door. Couldn't help squinting. Bright blue sky. Bright white land.

Fraser had been kneeling down on the snow next to Dief. He stood up slowly, looking out into the distance like there was something to see. Maybe, for him, there was. Great big signs in the snow. Slow: Caribou Crossing. Danger--Thin Ice. This Way to Dead Guy's Hand.

For me, there was nothing there but sun reflecting off snow.

I stepped out into the snow and zipped up the tent behind me, leaving an air gap so the fumes from the stove wouldn't build up too much. I sank down over a foot into the snow with each step as I struggled over to Fraser.

"Morning!" I called out. Fraser turned around.

"Good morning, Ray. We should have some good traveling weather today." Something about the way he said it set off alarms in my head. Like he was faking it. Like something was wrong.

"Yeah? Great. What's our next goal, then?"

He moved his hands behind him, parade rest; only he couldn't quite pull it off in a parka. "Actually, I think we should head back towards Ulukhatok."

That's the town we left three days ago. "Why? We forget to pick up some supplies we need for the next part of the trip?"

Fraser looked down at the snow. "No, I…that is, recent events have shown that I'm not able to ensure your safety out here, so I think we should head back."

No fucking way. "Is this about the storm? Yeah, of course it is. Look, I know you think I can't hack this, but I can, I can hack anything this crazy place has to throw at me, you just gotta give me a chance to prove it, right?" And Fraser is looking over my shoulder, this polite look on his face, like he does when the Ice Queen starts reprimanding him, and I am not letting him get away with that.

"Are you even listening to me, Fraser?" I reached out to touch his shoulder, but between the two layers of mittens on my hands and the six layers of clothes on his arm, I couldn't feel a thing. So I put my hand in the center of his chest and shoved. _That_ I felt.

Fraser stumbled back a step and then rushed forward three steps, right up in my face. I was sure I was gonna get hit, because I've seen him upset and I've seen him annoyed, but that's the first time I have ever seen him really angry. Then he stopped, jaw clenched, staring at me, and said in a voice like frozen metal, "I am doing the very best I can, under the circumstances."

He stomped off and went back to the dogs. I got breakfast ready. Oatmeal, tea, fucking pemmican. He came into the tent and ate like I was invisible. Fine, he didn't want to talk, we wouldn't talk. Not now, anyway. Once the camp was all packed up, he pointed to the sled. I pointed to my snowshoes. He shrugged and told the dogs to hike up.

So we were off, back the way we came, and if we stopped every hour for a quick rest and snack, I was too tired to mind, and too pissed off at him to be grateful. He finally announced to the air that we had traveled far enough for today. Doubt we'd gone more than half of our normal distance.

God, my legs hurt. But I had to prove I could do this. So I pulled the bright red tent off the sled, unrolled it, and set it up myself. Center pole, inner tent, outer tent, snow flaps down, a foot of snow shoveled onto them to hold down the tent. Anchor the four guy ropes down into the snow with skis, and it was done. "Check it, if you want," I called out to Fraser as I got the stove and our packs inside the tent and started melting snow for us and the dogs to drink. I sneaked a few ibuprofens and then heated up some stew. Rice and caribou stew, with cheese on top. Yum. I'm starting to get why Fraser was so into the produce section back in Chicago.

Dinner was all about the silent treatment again, but that was fine by me. I watched Fraser the whole time, and it was getting him seriously twitchy. We'd stopped early enough the sun was still pretty high in the sky, so Fraser was red-lit from sunlight coming in through the tent wall.

After dinner Fraser got out the sleeping bags and laid them down on opposite sides of the tent. It reminded me of the way he staked the dogs a few feet away from each other at night, so they wouldn't fight. Well, I was sick of being apart, and I wouldn't mind a good fight right about now. I moved the stove out of the way and zipped the bags together in the middle.

Fraser cleared his throat. "Ray, the temperature…"

"The temperature is real fucking cold, Fraser. Last night was the first time I slept warm since we started this thing. You got a problem with it?" Take that, Mr. Courtesy.

Fraser just sighed and hung up his wet layers. I did the same, then turned off the stove, zipped the tent flaps all the way closed, and hopped into the sleeping bag with him. It _was_ a lot warmer this way.

Fraser lay there facing away from me; real still, not squirming around like he normally does to get comfortable. I had this whole déjà vu moment. It reminded me of when things started going bad with Stella. She'd lie there in bed, all hot for me, but not saying or doing anything about it, 'cause she didn't want to be hot for me.

So maybe it was a big leap to take on instinct, but I had to check. So I spooned up behind Fraser, yawned, stretched, reached down and got a handful of him. Fraser was partway hard. As I touched him, he gasped and his whole body shuddered against mine.

"So," I asked, to be sure, "that just a generic hard-on, or is it there 'cause of me?"

I felt Fraser's hand trace down my arm to my hand, and … OW! He dug his fingers between the bones of my wrist, flipped over to face me, pushed my hand away like it was a rat, and snarled, "Don't touch me."

I huddled back against the far side of the sleeping bag, the zipper cold enough to burn, rubbing my sore wrist, adrenaline fizzing through me. What the fuck was that about? I've been with him on the takedown of murderers, rapists, people trying to kill us. And he's _gentle_ with them.

I mean, sure, my hand was on his dick, which is enough excuse for some guys to rip your hand off and feed it to you. But Fraser? No. No way. I've seen chicks and guys both get grabby with him, and he just does this polite, oblivious "Excuse me" thing and moves on. So what the hell is up with him?

My brain was jumping around, putting everything together. The storm, and the funny way Fraser was acting during it, and him getting mad out there today, turning around and going back in the middle of our adventure. Him refusing to even talk to me, and now this. 1 plus 1 plus A plus B, and it all equals…

Fraser's scared. Got to be, only reason why he'd be so mad. But what's there to be scared of out here? Aside from the normal stuff, like dying, 'cause that don't even make Fraser blink. And then I got an idea.

"Frase, you said you can't 'ensure my safety out here', right?" He muttered something that sounded like a yes. Even scooted all the way back in the sleeping bag, there was only about a foot between us, and there was still enough light to see by. I watched real close as I asked the next question.

"So what you think is the most dangerous thing out here?"

Fraser sighed a little. "Well, Ray, that's debatable…"

"Is it you?" He twitched. It didn't show on his face, but I felt it. And I started to laugh. What, was Fraser afraid he was gonna lose it and _ravish_ me, like some arctic version of Frannie's 'Pirate Bride' book? That was pretty damn funny, but it also meant Fraser didn't know me.

I mean, he kind of did. He knew the kid who wet his pants in a bank, and the man who spent years carrying a torch for Stella, and the cop with Vecchio's badge who threatened to kick people in the head but never really did it.

Fraser just didn't know the skinny white kid with glasses who survived four years in the South Side's toughest high school by earning a nasty rep as too crazy to mess with. He didn't know the man who'd spent his Friday nights trying to forget Stella in the hands and mouths of other guys in a certain Lincoln Park public restroom. Fraser didn't know the cop who'd gone undercover in Cook County Jail, and when his bunkmate tried to shiv him in his sleep, he was the only one who walked out of that cell alive.

So maybe I could introduce Fraser to that guy.

"Buddy," I warned him, "you aren't the most dangerous thing out here." Then I punched him in the head. I went to town, fists, elbows, even tried a head butt. And in the ring, sure, he'd kick my ass, but this was no ring. This was my goddamn tent, and I'd surprised him, and I fight real fucking dirty when I need to. Ended up with Fraser on his back, me on top of him, forearm across his throat, choking him out. The Academy stopped teaching chokeholds back in the 80's--they're too dangerous if you do them wrong. But sometimes they come in handy.

Fraser's eyes started to bulge a bit, his face purpling, as he tried to throw me off. I eased up a bit so he could get a sip of air. I didn't want to hurt him. Or maybe I did want to hurt him, just not _damage_ him. I leaned back in, my weight on my forearm, staring down at him until he stopped struggling.

"Nobody does nothing to me that I don't want. Got that?" I lifted up. Fraser took a gasping breath, coughed, and then nodded, eyes wide.

"Great. Glad we got that settled." Now that my weight was resting lower on his body, I noticed that Fraser's dick was pressing up against my thigh. Mine was against his stomach, and it sent me some happy tingles as I shifted around. "So, back to my first question. That just a generic hard-on, or is it there 'cause of me?"

Fraser lay back without answering, eyes closed, breathing. His nose was bleeding, probably from the head butt. After a minute the trail of blood reached his top lip, and Fraser's tongue flicked out to clear it. I gasped. God, I wanted to chase that tongue back into his mouth. Fraser opened his blue eyes and looked up at me.

"Entirely because of you, Ray," he rasped.

I leaned down and kissed him. My wrist throbbed, and my legs ached, but it didn't matter anymore. It got dark and it got colder, and still we rocked against each other, all those layers slowing everything down, my hands under his shirts, his hands pulling me closer, our bodies moving in swells like waves out on the lake, his voice whispering in my ear, "God," and "Yes", and "Please," until finally he stiffened against me, panting "Oh, oh, oh, Ray." It was too dark to see his face, but I heard everything, and nothing was slow any more. I was desperate, driving against him, needing to come here and now, but I couldn't feel enough, there were too many damn layers. Fraser reached in between us, carefully pushing through my layers until his warm bare hand touched my cock. And that was enough, that was _plenty_, and I sobbed out his name and came in his hand.

Later that night, curled up next to Fraser, I whispered "Hey, you awake?"

I could hear a lazy smile in his answer. "Well, that depends. What's on offer if I am?"

I sat up a little and moved in for a slow kiss. Nice. Yeah. "I was just thinking, when we get to Uluktown…" I stopped, because Fraser'd frozen up against me. "What? What's the matter?"

"Kansas?" he asked in a tight voice.

Huh? What was he…oh. "You missed the end of the story, Fraser. Turns out Dorothy never really left Kansas. Oz was just a dream. She was home with the people she loved all along. Me, I'm just looking forward to renting a room somewhere so we can both get naked without anything important freezing off. After that, we can keep looking for the Hand, or…"

"Could this be Kansas for you, Ray?"

"Yeah. Sure, this could be Kansas. If you'll have me."

That earned me a big, warm, full-body hug. Which I could get used to. So, screw the freaky sun. Screw the messed-up compass. Long as I'm with Fraser, I'm home.


End file.
